


Clothes

by swimmiNgDiNosauR



Series: Melinda May fluff and random stuff [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Clothes, Sulking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:36:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmiNgDiNosauR/pseuds/swimmiNgDiNosauR
Summary: They keep ruining Melinda's clothes. She is so not sulking because of it. She doesn't sulk.





	Clothes

Melinda storms through the base, scowling at Daisy, Jemma, Fitz, Mack, Bobbi, Hunter – Hunter especially – and Mack. She glares at Coulson just before she enters the training room. She hates them all. Before she met them, she used to have plenty of clothes to choose from: clean black T-shirts with no bullet holes, clean black jeans without any blood stains, clean black jackets with not one single rip. Now, she’s down to three T-shirts, two pairs of jeans and one jacket.

She skips tai chi and heads straight for the punching bag, wrapping her hands tightly. She vents her frustration on the punching bag until it swings away from her and she has to stop it before starting again.

“So,” Daisy says when she’s finished, “Feel any better?”

She spins around in surprise. She hadn’t heard Daisy enter. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” Daisy says in disbelief, leaning against the wall. “Because you glared at everyone.”

She had not. She’d only glared at Coulson. She can’t remember how many clothes she’s had to throw out because she took a bullet or knife or something sharp for him, but she’s pretty sure the number is up in the hundreds.

“Sorry,” she says without meaning.

“Liar,” Daisy says, pushing away from the wall and wrapping her own hands. She ducks under Melinda’s first punch and throws her own. Melinda catches her fist and twists. Daisy winces and knees Melinda in the gut. “What’d we do?”

Ruined my clothes, she thinks. She’s not gonna tell Daisy that though. It’s petty and stupid but they’re a terrorist organisation and she can’t go out and buy more clothes. She’s hunted through the base for clothes but they’re all too big or too small.

“Nothing,” she says, flipping over Daisy’s shoulder and kicking her legs out from under her. She pounces on Daisy, pinning her to the mats. “Surrender?”

Daisy taps the mats twice, giving her a sour look. “Whatever we did, I’m sorry.”

Doesn’t stop her running out of clothes, and it’s not like she can go into the field wearing Coulson’s Captain America T-shirts.

 

After training, she goes back to her bunk and sorts all her clothes into piles. Bullet holes or rips. She discards a pair of jeans with a nasty slash going all the way down from mid-thigh to just below her knee. The wound had been shallow but it’d stung like a papercut. A T-shirt with half of it missing also goes in the throw-out pile. She says goodbye to a jacket that’s barely being held together anymore, all the threads stretched and holes in the cuffs and pockets. Three more shirts with multiple bullet holes that she’d tried to salvage have to go, too. Several pairs of jeans, all with blood stains, rips and tears and a couple of bullet holes are rejected.

Half an hour later, she’s left with five shirts, only two of which have no stains, holes or tears, two pairs of jeans, one with rips in the knees and her favourite jacket. She swears to God, if the kids ruin this jacket… She finds a pair of leggings under her bed and mumbles a thank-you when she finds them still in one piece.

Still, though, when she exits her bunk, she keeps her scowl in place. Coulson approaches her and asks if she’s alright.

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” she says, biting back any other retorts she might want to make.

“No, you’re not,” he says, stepping in front of her.

She takes a step back and glares at him.

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” he says with a smile. “You keep glaring and scowling at us. What’s wrong?”

She sighs. If she’s going to tell anyone, she may as well tell him. He might even be able to help. Or her might laugh at her and offer her his shirt. Well, there’s only one way to find out.

“They keep ruining my clothes,” she grumbles. “And you.”

His silence tells her she’s surprised him.

“Hang on, wait a minute,” he says when she goes to walk past her. “What do you mean?”

“You and the kids,” she says slowly, “Keep ruining my clothes.”

“Okay,” he says, just as slowly. “Is this code for something?”

“No.”

“How are we ruining your clothes?” he asks cautiously.

“In the field,” she snaps. “Bullet holes, knives, rips and tears, bloodstains.”

“You wear black. I’m pretty sure you can’t see the bloodstains,” he says dryly.

“Not the point,” she scowls. “And since we’re a terrorist organisation, I can’t exactly just walk out and go shopping.”

“I’m sure Daisy would lend you some of her clothes if you asked,” he says.

She’s sure Daisy would but then she'd never stop laughing at her.

She gives him a dark look.

He puts his hands up in surrender. “So you’re just going to sulk, then?”

She glares at him. She is _not_ sulking. She doesn’t sulk. “I am not.”

He laughs. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

She nods and he steps out of her way.

 

“What did we do?” Fitz asks, laying back on the couch.

“What do you mean?” Mack replies.

“Well, May’s been glaring at us all day,” he explains. “We must have done something.”

Daisy voices her agreement. “I was sparring with her this morning and she seemed a lot more pissed off than usual.”

“Hey, Coulson,” Bobbi says, “Why is Melinda cross with us?”

“Did we do something?” Elena asks.

“Probably just stayed up too late and interfered with her zen-ness,” Hunter mutters under his breath.

Bobbi smacks him, looking at Coulson.

“She’s not cross,” he says. He lets them look at him in disbelief.

“She’s so cross,” Mack says. “I said hello and I’m 99.9% sure she swore at me under her breath.”

Elena snorts.

“She’s not cross,” Coulson repeats. He waits a little longer. “She’s sulking.”

Melinda chooses that moment to walk into the common room. She glares at Coulson and gives the team their daily scowl before boiling the jug.

There’s a shocked silence as they all stare at her.

She gives them a death-glare and pours herself a cup of tea.

“Why are you sulking and what do we have to do with it?” Daisy asks.

“I’m not sulking,” Melinda grumbles.

“You’re ruining her clothes,” Coulson says for her with a smirk.

Melinda sets her cup down and shucks her jacket off, turning around. Her hand reaches behind her and feels for the hole that she knows is there. She finds it and points it out to them.

“You can always borrow my clothes,” Bobbi offers with a grin.

Melinda gives her a scowl as she pulls her jacket back on. “I’m not stupid.”

“So that’s only one bullet hole,” Daisy says. “I’m not seeing how we’re ruining your clothes.”

Melinda walks out of the common room without a word. She comes back in a minute later with a bag. She chucks it at them and watches as they pull out the contents.

“Okay, so maybe you were right,” Daisy admits, holding up a T-shirt with one sleeve hanging off it and two bullet holes in the corner.

“I thought you were the…” Fitz trails off. “Why are you getting hurt the most?”

Melinda scowls at them. “Because I keep jumping in front of bullets for you lot.”

“That’s sweet,” Elena teases and Melinda glowers at her.

“Can’t you go out and buy more clothes?” Hunter asks, not really seeing what the fuss is about.

“The fact that we’re a terrorist organisation doesn’t really help, Hunter,” she says coldly.

“What about fake ID?” Daisy asks. “I can make one for you if you want.”

“Or you could all stop being so easy to shoot,” Melinda suggests.

“Or that,” Bobbi agrees. “You do seem to be in Medical the most, to be honest.”

“I’m not going to jump in front of any bullets for you in our next mission. See how you like it,” Melinda says grumpily.

“Told you she’s sulking,” Coulson smiles.

 

On their next mission, they come home with multiple wounds. Bobbi has a graze on her hip that she’s trying to convince Jemma is fine. Daisy has a bullet in her leg. Coulson has a gash on his forehead. Hunter is trying to pretend his wrist doesn’t have a gash on it, still dripping blood even though he’s been pressing a rag against it for the last half hour. Mack has a few scrapes but is otherwise fine. Fitz is limping behind them with a sprained ankle that he gained when he tripped over his own feet.

Melinda, however, is absolutely fine. No wounds whatsoever. She walks in front of them, a small smirk gracing her lips.

“Told you so,” she says smugly. It does feel nice when she’s right.

“This is all your fault,” Daisy grumbles, hopping beside Jemma, who is also fine.

“Jemma’s the best in the field out of you all,” Melinda retorts.

The outraged gasps behind her make her grin.

Then there’s a thump.

She turns around and sees Coulson flat on his face on the floor.

“That so was not my fault,” she says, staring at the man.

 


End file.
